


Shock

by Biromantic_Nerd



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: (Why are titles so hard?), Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Aunt May for a small scene, Because I can never resist adding in Aunt May, Does this qualify as Peter/NYC, Don't read if that's an issue for you, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I hate summaries and titles, I'm going to write this and then never read it again, Minor OC - Freeform, Panic Attacks, description of panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biromantic_Nerd/pseuds/Biromantic_Nerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter, as Peter Parker, has a panic attack in public. And he doesn't realize that he's having a panic attack at first because the trigger was odd. An off duty fireman helps him out. </p>
<p>** Inspired by TASM2 scene where Peter calls two of the fireman by their first names. I wondered what if he knew their names from being Peter and not from being Spiderman? </p>
<p>"Peter Parker: Alright, that's enough. [to the firemen helping him] Mike. Big John. Nice work, fellas. It was a pleasure doing business with you." **</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock

His breathing was rapidly fast. But as each breath became quicker and quicker, every breath seemed to become more and more painful. 

His trembling gasps for air were so odd. And he felt like he was spinning - or, maybe, instead, everything around him was spinning? He wasn't sure. His brain had a thick layer of fogginess, and he couldn't think clearly. 

His hands were shaking. 

He stared at them, amazed. They were shaking, and he was also shaking - and he didn't know _what was happening._

"Easy there." Someone murmured softly. 

Peter's head shot up immediately. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning for the voice's owner until he found them.

It was a large man. He seemed to be looming in the way that he leaned over, peering down at Peter. Peter startled backwards, jittery and nervous at this unexpected confrontation. Especially since _he_ was sitting, and that the man was standing; clearly the power dynamics were a bit more in the man's favor. 

Peter's brow furrowed at that previous, frantic thought. 

Clearly? He was Spiderman. Why did he think that when he could easily take down this bulky man? And, yet, somehow, it felt like all of his strength had been sapped away from his trembling limbs. Maybe it wasn't so inaccurate. 

The man began speaking slowly and softly. "You're alright. You're safe. I'm not going to touch you without your permission. Just concentrate on breathing. You're doing fine. Okay?" The man paused. "Would you prefer for me to stay with you, or would it help you more if you were alone?"

Peter's head was swimming. His hands were shaking, and his chest hurt. The man's questions didn't make much sense, but Peter tried to respond to them. 

"I - I'm okay. You - you can go, if you want t-to. I'm fi - ine." His staggering speech only seemed to make the man even more concerned. 

"Right." The man said doubtfully, still looking at Peter dubiously. "My name is John. I'm a fireman. I have a shock blanket in my bag here, would you like it?" Peter shook his head wildly from side to side. "Okay. Well, how about we try again in a couple minutes. Sound reasonable?" 

Peter hesitated but nodded once - a sharp jerk of his head. 

Around them, the citizens of New York dutifully ignored the two of them. They merely stepped around them both, with the occasional glance or scowl at having been inconvenienced slightly, but they carried on their way down the sidewalk without commenting. Which Peter was more than grateful for their apathetic rush. He was already mortified enough. 

"Okay. So just concentrate on your breathing. On slowing your breathing down. Don't mind your surrounding. Focus on your breathing. In. Out. There we go. You're okay, and you're doing great. C'mon, breathe in sloooooow. Hold that for a moment... and now gently exhale slowlyyyy. Great job. You're doing so good." 

Peter blinked up at him. He felt terribly exhausted suddenly, and his head ached fiercely. But his breaths were coming in as much more steady, with only a couple of sharp bursting gasps that lingered like a hiccup. 

"Do you remember my shock blanket?" The man said quietly, soothingly. "Would it be all right now if I placed it around you?" 

Peter nodded, his head feeling heavy with the movement. 

The man carefully wrapped the weighted blanket around Peter's shoulders, bringing it around to cover his front too. The solid heft that the blanket had was grounding, like a stabilizing anchor that brought him back down, stopping Peter from drifting away. Peter unclenched his fists and curled his hands in the material around him, pulling it closer to his body. He tucked his chin in to the blanket as well, wanting to be as enveloped as he could. He shakily drew his knees up and tugged them underneath the covering as well. 

Peter felt so _tired,_ and his eyes felt achey and puffy. He almost wanted to fall asleep right here, except for the leftover adrenalin that was still jolting through him, making him uncomfortably alert despite his fatigue.

"So everyone at the fire station calls me Big John." The man spoke in soft, lulling tones that were soothing to Peter's anxious, overly alert nerves. "It all started when Mike began calling me that. Then, before I knew it, everyone was calling me that." The gentle prattle was calming, and Peter listened to him - part thrumming with nervous energy, partly amused, and mostly exhausted - as he carried on with his story. 

\-------------------------------------------

"Good." The man - John - said a while later. "You're doing much better, good job." Peter sat on the curb of the sidewalk, slumped in weary exhaustion. The man had long since sat down tentatively beside him; yet, his massive bulk caused him to still tower over Peter, even when they both were seated. "There you go. It looks like your panic attack is over. You'll still be experiencing it's after effects, but the worst of it is over. You did marvelously, good job." 

Peter scrunched his nose a bit as that. He hadn't really done anything at all that deserved any sort of praise. All he had done was eventually control his wild sob-like breathing into a more relaxed breathing pattern. It still wasn't a normal breathing pattern, but it was significantly better than earlier. However, Peter didn't really view that as an accomplishment - as a _good job._ He viewed that as embarrassing and more than slightly pathetic that it had taken him so long just to be able to _breathe_ like a normal human being. 

"Do you want to talk about it? Or what started it?" John asked, his voice calm and steady and reassuring. "It's perfectly fine if you don't. But if you do, I'm here. I'll listen." 

"It - it was stupid. Are you sure that it was a panic attack? It was just so stupid, it couldn't have been.... been what..." Peter trailed off, his shoulders hiking a bit in self consciousness, his head lowered. "I'm sorry for wasting your time. I was just freaking out over nothing." 

The man sighed softly. "Listen to me. If something caused it - no matter how 'stupid' you think it was - it's not stupid. Panic attacks don't make sense. They take away all logic, all sense of security and our understanding of how the world normally operates. It's just a panicked frenzy. That's how they are. And it's not your fault. Don't apologize." 

Peter looked up at him, lifting his head only slightly. "I accidentally deleted a picture of my old girlfriend from my phone." He admitted, sure that the man would rebuke him for his strong reaction or maybe even laugh at him. 

The man nodded slowly. "Okay. And it obviously upset you. Do you not have any other pictures of her? Was the picture irreplaceable?"

Peter bashfully looked away. "I do have other pictures. But they're _all_ irreplaceable because she's - because she's..." His voice choked up. "She's dead." He managed to whisper.

"Aw shit." The man rubbed at his face wearily. "Yeah, that does sound a bit panic-inducing." 

"Really?" Peter lifted his head again. "It doesn't sound stupid?" 

"Tragedy and trauma," The man explained. "are a huge leading cause of panic attacks. Losing a loved one definitely falls under that category." 

Peter somehow felt less ashamed because of that. Having someone tell him that his abnormal reaction was understandable was something wonderful; it was such a relief. Peter didn't feel as much like some freak that couldn't even handle some minor accidental mistake.

"Is there anyone that I can contact for you?" The man asked gently. "I would offer for you to come on over and have some of my wife's strawberry pie, but I figured that you would rather be getting on home. Maybe some other time?" 

"You don't even know me." Peter protested at the invitation. 

The man smiled sadly. "My son has panic attacks. And they'll layer on top of each other in some terrible, overlapping, unending spiral. I just want to make sure that you're okay." 

"How old is your son?" Peter asked softly. 

"He's seventeen. He's been having terrible panic attacks since The Incident, you know? One of his friends died right in front of him."

Peter winced, flinching away. 

The man paused. 

"Anyways," He said, a tad chagrined, "I'm getting better at talking people down from panic attacks thanks to that. It's also why I happened to have the shock blanket with me; it's just something that I like to carry with me. It makes me feel like I'm always prepared to be there for my son - or anyone else who needs it." He smiled warmly at Peter, and he managed to smile back in reply.

The man took a napkin out from his pocket and fished around in his bag until he pulled out a pen. 

"So here's my house phone number and my cell phone number. Just call if you ever need anything. Leave a message if I don't pick up; I'll get back to you." John promised. 

Peter looked at the extended napkin in amazement. "But - but you barely know me!" He protested yet again. 

John smiled softly. "I know enough. I know that my wife and I would be happy to help if you need help." 

"And your son?" Peter asked nervously. "Won't be think that's weird?"

The man shook his head. "He feels a bit smothered by us sometimes, but so often he refuses to ask for help when he needs help. I've been helping out a lot of people; helping you too wouldn't bother him. It would help show him that it's okay to need help, and it's okay to ask for help. You were comforted by the fact the other people have panic attacks, right? I'm hoping that it'll have the same effect on him, since you're about his age, and the other people I've helped have been either much younger or older." 

Peter nodded thoughtfully. 

"Well, if it's to help your son..." He murmured quietly. 

"Don't feel so pressured!" The man assured him, laughing a bit. "It's not anything like that! I just want to help you when you need it, which I think would also have the bonus of helping my son along the way. My son's mental health doesn't depend on you, geez, kid. That'd be pretty ethically dubious of me to invite you if that were the case. Relax. Think about it. You can always and are more than welcome to say no." 

Peter smiled. "Okay. I'll think about it." 

"There you, see? No pressure, okay?" The man assured him. 

Peter nodded in agreement. "No pressure."

\---------------------------------------

"Hey." Peter said softly to his aunt in greeting.

"Peter?" Aunt May asked, her voice concerned. "What's wrong? You look awfully pale." 

Peter gave a small smile before he darted over to kiss her on the cheek. "It's nothing." He promised, lying. 

It looked like she didn't believe him but allowed him try to pass it off as unimportant for now. 

"You know what?" Aunt May asked. "We have a box of brownie mix in the pantry. Maybe you'd like to help me make them and then watch a movie with me while we wait for them to bake. I just borrowed 'Stardust' from Mrs. Allen. Her daughter Liz recommended it. What do you say?" 

Peter's smile felt easier and more weightless now. "That sounds good, Aunt May." 

She appeared relieved at his sudden change of demeanor, his newfound cheer relaxing the tense lines on her face. 

"Good! Good." She smiled. She went to the pantry and pulled out the box of brownie mix. "Be a dear and read that for me, would you? I'm not saying that I'm old, but my eyes just aren't as young as they used to be, you know." 

She began collecting the ingredients that she knew by heart: eggs and measuring spoons. 

Peter's own eyes lit up mischievously. "It says, 'Once prepared, give all the brownies to Peter.'" 

She turned around, laughing in surprise. "Oh, I'm _sure_ it does." She said dryly, amused. "But maybe you'll spare me just one?" 

Peter chuckled. "I think I can manage that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Incident" is a reference to the alien invasion that happened back in The Avengers. If TASM was smushed with the MCU, it would have been a couple of years before. Assuming that Peter wasn't Spiderman yet. 
> 
> Really neat website that I like to reference for TASM and MCU smashup is:
> 
> http://www.comicbookmovie.com/spider-man/how-would-the-amazing-spider-man-franchise-fit-in-with-the-mcu-a99420
> 
> Also, Liz Allen is a character in Spiderman universes that aren't TASM, and she went to Midtown with Peter. Just wanted to use someone that was Peter's age; there's no significance to the plot.


End file.
